


The Grit on the Lens

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Feelings Realization, I Love You Scene (Sherlock: The Final Problem), ILYAnniversary2018, Light Angst, Romance, TFP AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-25 19:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13219467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: What if Eurus had wielded her dangerous brilliance against Sherlock during the Victorian era? Perhaps she still would have skillfully used Molly Hooper in exposing one of Sherlock’s greatest pressure points.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/gifts).



> Many thanks to Lexie for her help in plotting this parallel scenario. (Including suggesting this lovey title!) I was glad to be able to brainstorm with her in translating the events of TFP into an era with little or none of the technology that we’re used to in bbc Sherlock. Been planning this one for a while and wanted to post it specially on this day, seeing an it was one year ago today that TFP aired and we got to witness the almost unbelievable- Sherlock and Molly expressing a mutual “I Love You.” ❤️  
> (Also... This is my 70th Sherlock fic! Wow! :D)

Sherlock straightened his shoulders and clenched his jaw so tight that it hurt. But he wouldn’t let it shake him, no. He couldn’t let any of this shake him.

John shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, no doubt trying to clear the sickening sight from his brain. Mycroft appeared more shocked than anything else. He could barely begin to process the horrors they had witnessed thus far.

“Ah, but no need to linger here,” Eurus crystal clear voice announced in the doorway as she gestured for them to follow. “This little game is done now and it’s time for another, don’t you agree? Something more personal next. Bit more fun that way.”

She walked through the door, obviously confident that the three men would follow.

“We cannot continue!” Mycroft hissed frantically. “How can we allow her to use us like playthings when lives are on the line?!”

“Because there is a life on the line,” Sherlock bit back, his eyes aflame. “Today we are soldiers. That means we will see and do things which most men would shy away from. And perhaps we won’t all walk away alive and well, but that hardly matters, does it?”

Mycroft couldn’t manage to argue. No, of course it didn’t matter. Because as Sherlock said, there was a life on the line. And not just any life.

The tiny and precious life of Rosamund Mary Watson.

Oh the panic that welled up in all of them upon seeing the little baby, so close and yet so far. John had actually lunged forward at the glass, convinced at first that his daughter was right there where he could touch her. His horror only intensified when he realized it was nothing but an illusion. A trick with mirrors, meant only to show them why they must play along.

“Soldiers today,” Sherlock repeated to Mycroft, as clear and calm as he could manage.

He met John’s eye and his friend nodded in silent gratitude.

With that, all three men dutifully followed Eurus Holmes from that particular room, turning their backs to the three ominous ropes that still hung heavily weighted through the openings in the floor.

The grand old home was huge, and had been outfitted with everything one could possibly need. Perhaps too much, in fact. Mycroft Holmes thought he’d planned for everything when he’d set his own sister up in this place out in the country, very purposefully secluded and heavily staffed. What he’d not planned for was who would later be running the establishment. Every acre of land, every room, every member of the staff, and every available resource, all at Eurus’ command.

They followed Eurus down a long corridor till she stopped at a door, opening it and leading the way into a small and rather sparse room. In fact, there was only one thing inside.

An uncovered and empty coffin.

“Do you know,” she began matter-of-factly, “you are not the only guests of Sherrinford manor today? There is another. Sadly though, this may well be their final resting place.” She gestured to the simple box.

“Who?” John questioned.

Eurus clicked her tongue. “That is for my brother to tell you,” she replied with a nod to Sherlock. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small hourglass, setting it on the edge of the coffin, the sand trickling rapidly through the glass. “There’s not much time, Sherlock...start your deductions.”

Sherlock stepped up to the simple coffin, his eyes scanning the size, type of wood, and quality of construction.

“A woman, unmarried, about five foot, four inches,” he stated first, his eyes scanning the object, his mind focusing on the task at hand. “She has little or no family and is of modest means. There is no sentiment in this choice of coffin, leading one to believe that she is practical, unromantic about the disposal of remains.”

“That’s all very well Brother dear,” Mycroft interrupted. “Perhaps we should just glance at the lid?”

The elder Holmes lifted the lid from where it leaned against the wall. The lid of the coffin held its one piece of finery. A shiny plaque, engraved very simply with _I Love You_.

Sherlock’s heart sank, hard and fast. Why did it have to be her?

“What have you done with her?” Sherlock asked, glaring across the coffin at his sister.

“Her who?” John demanded then.

“Molly Hooper,” Sherlock explained, his eyes still locked onto Eurus.

“That’s right,” Eurus confirmed. “His- what is it you’ve said, Dr. Watson? Little secretary?”

John recoiled at the correct wording. He’d never thought his incorrect description of Molly in the Strand stories would come to make him feel as sorry as he did at this moment.

“She is not a secretary,” Sherlock growled.

It always grated on his nerves to hear the sweet woman reduced from what position she did hold at Bart’s hospital. A nurse, primarily in the morgue. Not many could stomach it of course. And her skills and knowledge went far beyond what level of responsibility they would allow her. In his opinion the woman should be running the entire morgue single handedly. John had made comments, of course he had. He saw that Molly Hooper was at his right hand, assisting him, supporting him, sometimes catering to his whims. John’s words didn’t bother him, but for his sister to have seen the very same things...that turned his blood cold.

“Dear Miss Hooper received your little telegram earlier today; just like many you’ve sent before. You requested her presence here, because you needed her help. Naturally she wasted no time,” Eurus explained, strolling over to the wall that was partly covered with a large black curtain.

“Where is she?” Sherlock questioned more forcefully, trying to temper his desperation by remembering the life of his goddaughter.

“Oh,” Eurus chirped lightly. “But you see...she’s right here.”

With that, she tugged on a cord, causing the black curtain to sweep to one side. Behind it was a large pane of glass that looking into a sitting room. And there was Molly.

“Ah Ah!” Eurus warned as she saw Sherlock marching toward the glass. “Don’t waste your time. She cannot see you. All Miss Hooper can see in that room is a large mirror. She cannot hear us either. For sound to travel through, you must press this voice receiver.”

“I want to speak to her,” Sherlock requested impatiently. “And I want her gone from this place. Please, Eurus, I have played your little games and I will play them still. But Miss Hooper is an innocent in all of this. She has nothing to do with this and should be free to go.”

“I hardly think she has nothing to do with this,” Eurus replied with a little smirk. “Besides, I doubt you will want her to leave quite yet. Unless of course, you should like for her to die an excruciating death on her way back to the city.”

Sherlock tilted his head in confusion and fear. His sister held his gaze for a moment and what he read in her eyes made his blood run cold. His eyes flickered to the room Molly was in, taking in the empty tea cup at the table she sat at, obviously waiting for him.

“You poisoned her,” Mycroft voiced Sherlock’s conclusion.

“Good God, what kind?” John asked, the doctor in him taking over.

“Not to worry, I have an antidote,” Eurus stated far too brightly. She gestured to the hourglass that was still trickling sand. “If she takes it before that empties out, she shall be perfectly safe and never be the wiser. I’d say maybe about three more minutes. Though...I must hear the magic words from her lips.”

Sherlock shut his eyes and emitted a sigh of horror.

“What words?” John questioned, despite the fact that both the Holmes men seemed to understand perfectly.

“Quite obvious,” Sherlock stated, soft and sad as he glanced over to the plaque on the coffin lid, answering his friend.

“You may not warn her, Sherlock,” Eurus stated firmly as he approached the glass. “You may not in any way reveal that she is in danger or that anyone else is. If so, she will not receive the life saving antidote and she will die in a matter of minutes. Are we clear?”

He nodded once in confirmation and readied his finger over the receiver, drawing a breath of courage before pressing it in.

“Hello, Miss Hooper,” he stated as pleasantly as he could manage.

Molly stood from her seat, glancing around in surprise at the unexpected sound of his voice.

“Wh- Mr. Holmes, where are you?” she questioned with a little laugh.

“Not far. I apologize I cannot meet you in person, but this room is conveniently outfitted with a sort of telephone system. I shall be speaking with you remotely.”

“Oh, I see.” She nodded, though not at anyone in particular. “I understand you needed me for something. Your telegram did not say, so I do hope you didn’t require any specific tools or chemicals because I didn’t bring-“

“No no, nothing like that,” he explained, keeping the tone light as possible. “I ask only one simple thing from you today, no tools of the trade necessary.”

Her gaze darted around hesitantly. “And...what simple thing is that?”

Sherlock paused a moment, removing his finger from the button as he took another deep breath.

“Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes, what is it that you want?” Her tone conveyed a touch more concern now.

He pressed the button once more, attempting to choose his words carefully. “I need you to say these words for me.”

“Words?” She let out a short laugh. “What words?”

A breath, a pause, he dove in.

“I love you.”

One might have thought that icy air had suddenly been pumped into that little sitting room. Molly’s expression hardened and she straightened up, snatching her wrap from the chair.

“I should like to leave, Mr. Holmes,” she stated firmly. “Which is the way out?”

“No, Miss Hooper, no! Please, you mustn’t leave!” Sherlock instructed desperately, fear overtaking him at the sudden possibility that she could walk away.

Eurus smacked his hand from the button. “Calmly, Sherlock, or she will die whether she leaves that room or not!”

Sherlock gulped hard, eyes glancing back to the hourglass that was quickly running out. He pressed the button again, though he heard her voice again before he could say anything else.

“Why would you ask that of me?” Molly questioned, her voice unsteady now. “Why bring me out to God knows where only to torment me in one of your ridiculous games?”

“This isn’t a game, Miss Hooper, I swear it. This is- it’s for a case. A sort of experiment!”

“An experiment?” Molly repeated with a humorless laugh. “Is that what I am now? I realize I have been an assistant, or an errand girl, or a listening ear...but an experiment? Mr. Holmes, that is not what I am!”

“No! No, you’re not,” he agreed vehemently, cursing that previous phrasing. “You’re far more than that, you’re my friend! But please, would you say those words for me? I can’t say why, but I promise you it is so very important.”

Molly paced a short distance, crossing her arms over her middle and then uncrossing them. She shook her head. “I cannot, I simply cannot,” she replied softly.

“Of course you can!” Sherlock encouraged her.

“I cannot,” she repeated.

“Why can’t you?”

“You know why.”

Sherlock frowned. This was spinning out of control and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bring her back on track. He could see the sand running out along with her remaining life. She looked a little flushed to him now and he prayed it was the subject matter as opposed to the effects of the poison.

“No I do not know why,” he bit back.

“Of course you do.”

She swiped at her eyes, her lips twisting a little, obviously controlling her features as emotion threatened to take over. And it just about broke him in two.

He was beginning to feel rather emotionally beat down as well and wondered if he’d be able to outlast the effects of the poison. “Please, Miss Hooper, just say it.”

She perched her delicate hands on her hips for a moment and leaned her head back in exasperation before righting herself again.

“I- I can’t,” she insisted again. “Please don’t ask me to. I can’t say…that. Not to you.”

Sherlock’s gaze flicked to the dwindling sand in the hourglass and felt panic welling up in his chest.

“Why?”

Molly rubbed a hand over her face for a moment, pressing her fingers to her lips and drawing a visible breath.

“Because it’s- it’s... _true_ , Mr. Holmes,” she gasped out. “It’s always been true.”

Sherlock blinked, his view of her interrupted for a mere millisecond, but it was more than enough time to recall about a million tiny little moments with the woman before him. A million moments that screamed exactly that little piece of truth which she couldn’t possibly bring herself to say.

But now was not the time for sentiment. First, he had to save her.

“If it is the truth, you may as well speak it,” he said rather flatly.

She shook her head, and he thought he saw the glisten of moisture on her cheeks.

“You bastard,” she muttered bitterly, glancing around as though wishing to aim the verbal blow in the right direction.

“Say it,” he repeated, more of a command in his tone now.

“You say it first.”

Sherlock shook his head ever so slightly. He blinked, trying to process the reality of her request.

“What?”

“Go on, Mr. Holmes, say it,” she challenged, somehow managing to stare directly at him for a moment. “Say it like you mean it.”

He released the button and his gaze spun in desperation to his sister and the hourglass which marched on unsympathetically, ignoring his brother and his best friend and their worried gaze.

“Less than a minute, Sherlock,” Eurus warned.

His eyes snapped back to her, standing there in the little room, looking beaten down but now determined. And waiting. Listening and waiting.

His trembling finger pressed the button once more.

“I..” he began after gulping a breath. It was fine, he could say it, it would be just like acting. Perhaps she would even believe him. Perhaps he would save her after all.

“I love you,” he pushed off his tongue.

Molly visibly released a breath that she’d been holding in, and a very brief smile on her lips upon hearing the words was quickly covered once more with the obvious shadow of pain. Her hands were clasped tightly over her middle, as if holding herself together.

God, how he wanted to rush to her in that moment...hold her...comfort her...whisper to her…

“I love you,” Sherlock repeated in a murmur, soft but clear, hardly having realized he was going to say it again.

This time, just like him...she felt it, let it wash over her. He could see it. She shut her eyes tight, absorbing the words, holding them for a moment before lifting her lids once more.

“Miss Hooper?” Sherlock prompted then, glancing at the hourglass...which was currently releasing the very last few grains of sand.

She stood there, silent and still, staring straight ahead at the desperate face which she thought was just her own reflection.

“Molly, please,” he begged, wondering how much leeway they had. What if she doubled over in that moment? What if she said it after the pain began? Would Eurus still save her?

But then her lips parted.

“I love you,” Molly whispered, just loud enough for all to hear.

Sherlock’s finger left the voice receiver button and his shoulders dropped in instant and intense relief, though he still couldn’t tear his concerned gaze from the small woman on the other side of the glass. He watched her swipe at her eyes draw a couple deep breaths, and he was about to demand that his sister follow through on what she’d promised when Molly spoke before he could.

“Mr. Holmes?” she questioned softly, clearly wondering where he’d gone after she’d done what he apparently wanted.

He pressed the button once more. “Miss Hooper, yes, I’m here,” he stated, trying to sound as positive and reassuring now as he could.

“Where exactly are- Ah!”

Molly cried out and flinched as she reached up and plucked something from her neck, tossing it on the ground after glancing at it.

“M-Miss Hooper?” Sherlock called to her as he watched her eyes glaze over.

She teetered this way and then the other only briefly...and then crumpled onto the ground.

“Miss Hooper! Molly!” Sherlock yelled frantically before turning to his sister. “What was that? Was that the antidote?!”

Eurus paused, her expression strained for a very brief moment. But then she gave him a small smile.

“What antidote?” she asked with a little chuckle. “Miss Hooper was in need of no such substance.”

Sherlock frowned, half distracted by the two men that he saw come into the room and lift Molly from the ground, carrying her carefully away.

“Oh my dear simple brother, what sort of danger did you imagine I would risk putting Miss Hooper in? There was no poison in her lovely cup of tea, and therefore no antidote,” she explained, as if to a child. “What she has just received was simply a sedative, ensuring that she can sleep soundly all the way back to London in the carriage I have arranged. No harm has come to her. At least...no physical harm.”

Sherlock had to grasp the casing around the viewing glass, bracing himself as the reality of her words sunk in. He clenched his jaw tightly, reigning in as many of his emotions as he could.

“I did what you asked. Now what about Rosamund?” he questioned flatly.

“When will you learn, I wonder?” Eurus drawled, staring at him in awe for a moment while ignoring his request completely. She strolled back over to the little room’s doorway, pausing and turning just enough to address him again.

“It is all those complex emotions which truly destroy you, compromising your logical mind. Just look at what you’ve done to yourself, and to her. Such a very interesting display…”

The poor man was stunned, in every possible way, staring awestruck and helpless at his sister who currently held all possible power. Before he could open his lips again, she spoke.

“We are not done playing our little game yet. The door at the end of this hallway shall be your next challenge, and a far more difficult one. I shall go on ahead, as I imagine you’ll need to compose yourself first.”

And with that she rounded the corner, disappearing from view, the sound of her light and controlled footsteps echoing as she went.

“Holmes,” John finally voiced, placing a hand on his arm. “She will be fine, I’m sure of it.”

Mycroft even stepped forward, looking concerned. “Despite how difficult that no doubt was-“

But Sherlock shrugged off his friends hand and turned quickly away from his brother’s words. He stepped past them, glancing one last time through the glass and into the now empty room, though the figure that had been there was still clearly silhouetted in his mind’s eye. He roughly tugged at the cord he’d seen his sister use, again blocking the window with the heavy black curtain. And then his eyes fell on the coffin.

He picked up the lid, suddenly deciding that he couldn’t leave it there, leaning on the wall so tall and proud. He needed to put it in its place and close the door, so to speak, on this whole mess that he’d been so powerless to stop. He picked it up, deciding to forever close that damned little box which had threatened to hold the body of someone he so deeply-

Sherlock paused as his hands finished their task and his brain continued its painful racing. This all must have been awfully clear to the two onlookers in the doorway.

“Holmes?” John said, gently prodding him to follow.

But he could not. He could not move on, not yet, he realized as his fingers traced some of the carefully engraved letters, swearing that the metal had somehow become red hot. Because those words burned.

“No,” he growled in a whisper, to nobody but himself, as his arm lifted into the air.

Sherlock’s fist came down, hard and fast with an agonized cry, sending the flimsy wood splintering into a hundred pieces. His hands came down again and again, not satisfied even as his own flesh came apart along with the wood. What did it matter?

Because after all, no matter what else he did, the worst damage was already done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of The Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Not just a one shot! :D I felt like it would be pretty lame of me to write an AU like this and then leave it hanging at the end of the scene. Hope you enjoy some nice closure! ;)

Molly walked briskly down the street, keeping her hands inside the well used muff to shield them from the slightly chilly wind. She was relieved to finally enter her boarding house. She’d barely shut the door though, before hearing her landlady’s voice.

“This is becoming a bit ridiculous, Miss Hooper.”

Molly saw Mrs. Pearson come down the hall from her private quarters, her arms full and her expression stern. She approached and Molly instinctively held out her hands to accept the bundle, though a couple of the letters fell in the process of transfer and she had to bend to pick them up.

“It borders on unseemly for an unmarried woman to receive such constant attention from a man over the course of two weeks,” she commented with a judgemental raised brow. “One might begin to question what you’ve done to encourage such behavior.”

“I have hardly-“ Molly paused, stilling the biting reply that almost tumbled out. This really was a lovely boarding house and she certainly preferred to keep her room. “Not to worry, Mrs. Pearson. I will do my best to make sure this doesn’t continue.”

She bid her landlady good day and trudged up the stairs, Sherlock’s latest and especially large batch of letters clutched to her chest.

The first one arrived the day after the incident. It was an in depth circumstantial explanation of the events of that day, on what was apparently the country estate known as Sherrinford. That first letter answered all the questions she’d woken up with after being dumped back at her boarding house. Well, all questions except the most important one of course.

The subsequent few letters over that next ten days were different. He wasn’t explaining anymore, he was apologizing. He said many times and in many ways that he was choosing to give her space and time, in case she preferred not to see him yet. But he did want to see her, and to speak in person.

She laid the new letters on her little desk after shutting her door and then began opening them. Instantly, she could see that the tone had changed dramatically. These many short letters were more of a stream of consciousness. He wasn’t just referencing the incident now, he was also talking about his day and occasionally asking her thoughts on a matter. One letter would end abruptly, and then another would pick up as if in the middle of a new thought. Now it was almost as if he were trying to speak of anything else, trying to distract himself.

She knew exactly how he felt.

Molly sniffed away some moisture that she suddenly realized was clouding her vision and then immediately tugged open her desk drawer, pulling out a sheet of paper and her pen.

_Mr. Holmes,_

_I thank you for all of your letters. Forgive me for being slow to reply as I felt the need for a lot of thinking. But I am now ready to speak in person. I shall call on you tomorrow at about three in the afternoon if that is agreeable._

_M. Hooper_

Molly wanted him to get the message as soon as humanly possible, so she wasted no time, hurrying down from her room and out of the building, to just around the corner where she was sure he’d be.

“Afternoon, Miss,” Bill Wiggins addressed her politely.

“Afternoon, Mr. Wiggins,” she replied. “Would you be so kind as you get this to Mr. Holmes? As quick as you can please!”

“Righ’ away Miss,” he agreed with a nod, instantly heading off in the direction of Baker Street.

Molly watched him go, smiling to herself. She felt better already.

* * *

 

She walked up the steps slowly, enjoying the sound of his violin as she went. It was so gentle and soft that she almost wished she didn’t have to announce her presence.

And she couldn’t help but note that this felt so different. She’d been to his flat on Baker Street on occasion, but never like this. She’d come to bring him results from the hospital, or perhaps some requested supplies. But never had she simply come to call. Of course, why would she?

Yet here she was now, standing now in his doorway and watching as he set down the violin and gave her a somewhat awkward smile.

“Miss Hooper,” he greeted softly. “I’m pleased you could come.”

She set her hat and shawl on the rack and stepped over to the fireplace where he gestured, a pot of tea ready and waiting.

They were both silent as Sherlock poured the steaming liquid, adding sugar for himself and a lemon slice for her. She sat in Watson’s old chair and accepted the cup he handed, almost flinching at the brief touch of his fingers. After he sat down as well, Molly opened her mouth to speak.

“Is everyone well? Dr. Watson and Rosemund and your brother I mean.”

“They are, yes,” he confirmed. “Everyone managed to walk away physically unharmed.”

“Y-your letters…” she began a little nervously. “Thank you for taking the time to explain all of the circumstances of the...events of that day.”

Sherlock set his teacup down and nodded, placing his hands on the armrests of his leather chair.

“And your sister?” Molly asked. “Will she be…”

“She will be placed somewhere else now,” he explained, understanding her meaning. “A different set of staff and a different location. There will be one marked difference though. She will not be without visitors.”

Molly’s brow lifted. “Is that safe?”

“Very, Miss Hooper. In fact, our family’s lack of contact was the very thing that drove her to the madness and destruction which we recently found ourselves victims of. Ironically, it was the very thing that my brother and I shy away from which saved us that day. Sentiment.”

His eyes found hers as he spoke that last word, sending a slight shiver through her.

“Sentiment,” she repeated softly.

Sherlock stood from his seat, seeming a touch antsy.

“I’ve many times expressed to Watson my resistance to sentiment in its many forms. Emotions have always been, in truth, abhorrent to me. They appeared as nothing but a complication to my mind, to my work. And in particular…” He stopped short, turning to glance back at her again. “Romantic entanglements.”

Molly stared at him in silence for a moment before finding her voice again.

“We are done talking about your sister then?”

Sherlock’s voice dropped. “Miss Hooper, you and I are both well aware that you did not come here today to speak of my sister.”

She licked her lips, giving him a brief smile. “No, I did not,” she agreed softly.

An understanding having passed between them, Sherlock took a seat across from her again, his hands poised at his lips for a breath before speaking.

“I apologize once again,” he said, not much above a whisper.

Molly smiled in appreciation. “And I accept your apology. None of it was not your doing, of course. In truth I should be thanking you. Had your sister’s threat been genuine, you certainly did all you could to preserve my life. I’m grateful for that- and for your friendship.”

He remained silent, perceptively anticipating that there was more she needed to say.

“And I should like to...preserve that friendship,” she explained, her hands tightly clasped in her lap now. “I enjoy working closely with you. I consider it a privilege that I should hate to lose, that you include me in much of your work.”

“I disagree.”

Molly frowned. “Pardon me?”

He smiled. “Miss Hooper, I would argue that the privilege is mine. Our professional connection and friendship have been one of great meaning to me over the years.”

She felt her cheeks blossom in the warmth of his words and had to look away momentarily to clear her throat.

“So we are agreed. We both would not want to cause any disturbance to our...friendship.”

Sherlock made an almost comical expression then, pursing his lips in thought. “Not my precise wording.”

Molly shifted nervously in her seat, releasing a short laugh. “Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you should make yourself more clear. I am afraid I may be misunderstanding.”

Sherlock paused for what felt like an age before his distractingly perfect lips parted.

“That complication I spoke of earlier, Miss Hooper- the complication of emotions,” he explained slowly. “I am not entirely sure now that I have been correct on this matter. I find myself now ready to examine a very different school of thought.”

She tilted her head, listening with interest to his somewhat cryptic words. Perhaps if it was any other man, she would grasp it instantly. But from him…

“Tell me, Miss Hooper...did you believe me when I said it?”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Mr. Holmes, I- I must now be the one to beg your forgiveness,” she said, now flustered, smoothing the simple grey skirt over her lap. “I was…confused and hurt, not understanding why you’d demand those words from me. I should not have made such a demand from you in return, but I was angry and-“

“Please,” Sherlock interrupted gently. “You have no need to apologize or explain yourself. I simply want to know. Did you believe me?”

Molly sighed, her mind spinning as she contemplated how to answer. Though, really, there was only one way. He wanted to know, clearly wanted her to be honest. She felt a bit of a fool to admit it, but perhaps given the circumstance, what would it hurt to throw all the remaining cards on the table?

“Yes,” she whispered. “In that moment...I did.”

He held her gaze, the corner of his lips lifting very slightly, which also brightened his eyes.

“Interestingly,” he replied, “So did I.”

Molly’s lips parted in silent shock as his words sunk in.

“After putting a considerable amount of thought into this, it seems clear to me that in this case only a very small bit of deduction is needed. If we each heard the words in question and believed them,” Sherlock went on softly, and he also scooted forward in his chair, enough to reach out and gingerly touch his fingers to hers on her knee. “Can they really be anything but the truth?”

 _No, they can’t_ , she wordlessly agreed, feeling his fingertips ghosting over her knuckles. She hadn’t really let herself admit it till now, but deep down she had already known how real his words were. Not just in that moment, but also nestled in between every word of all the letters he sent in the days that followed. All at once it became very clear to her that if this wasn’t real love, she couldn’t imagine what was.

Molly’s gaze drifted down to where his fingers rested on hers, and then she smiled. How silly she felt now to have put off facing him and tackling this delicate subject. If she’d known, she would have rushed to him that very same day. She lifted her eyes to meet his again.

“You love me,” she stated, her words barely audible but the weight of their reality was loud and clear.

Sherlock nodded slowly. “I do. I love you. It seemed right to tell you, and not just in the way that it happened before.”

Molly swallowed thickly though, more questions coming to her mind now.

“I am indescribably pleased to hear it of course but...what does this all mean? What happens now?”

Sherlock took more definitive hold of her hand in his then, smiling back at her almost shyly as he moved off of his chair to kneel in front of where she sat.

“No matter the depth of my feelings for you, I am still a man sorely lacking in experience in matters of the heart; perhaps my own heart most of all. I must beg your patience as I attempt to walk a very unfamiliar path. I may even need your help, being a bit more knowledgeable on this topic.”

She smiled back at him, not missing the way his gaze was then drawn to her lips.

“Yes, I am already somewhat acquainted with matters of the heart,” Molly replied sweetly, her palm coming to rest on his cheek. “Including yours.”

He smirked. “Mm, you are rather good at cutting a man open and discovering what’s deep inside. Granted, the findings are not always pleasant.”

Molly was the one to glance at his lips this time.

“I feel especially confident of the findings in this case Mr. Holmes,” she whispered, her fingers drifting along his face till they very gently touched that appealing focal point. “Though it will be complex…lots of details...and much to discuss.”

She leaned forward a bit more, nudging his nose with hers before resting her forehead against his and adding, “But I believe we shall like what we find.”

And then she felt his lips connect to hers. Like one magnet to another.

Like they were exactly where they were meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> How you readers feeling about me right now? It’s ok, don’t hold back hehe. Would love to hear your thoughts! ;D


End file.
